A Blanket of Darkness
by IvyVine6
Summary: Together, Dipper and Mabel Pines have had to face up to many enemies, whether truly magical or not, and are ready to do it again. Unraveling this secret will be a new challenge for the twins; with a helping hand, they just might be able to discover its truths. In Gravity Falls, there are many mysteries to be solved and codes to crack, but trust can certainly be put to the test.
1. Dawn Shudder

**A/N: Hellooo Gravity Fallers! (And other curious readers, for that matter...)**

** This is honestly my first ever Gravity Falls fanfiction, and I would gladly accept any feedback on this piece. Thank you for reading this far.**

**I give you...Chapter One: Dawn Shudder**

* * *

A blanket of darkness covered the sleepy town of Gravity Falls. The black, charged clouds lingered over the well hollowed crevice. They were like dead weights of stress piled upon the sight's shoulders. Only a few starry souls peeked through the fluff. And yet that was far from the main pocket, well away from needless sight.

All was still and quiet-like. Only a few buzzes could be heard from the passing of lifted insects, or the clipped croak of a frog. Crickets chirped at regular intervals, and the faint howls of wolves drifted from the mountains.

And then…

Muffled voices, or rather, distanced shouting, could be heard bouncing off the cliff faces. The sound could have been mistaken for wind, but up high on a battered wooden railroad bridge, nestled between two steep embankments, sat a boy. He knew for sure it was no such thing. He was quite young, but old enough to have a fairly logical mind. A lost expression was fixed upon his face as he listened intently to the voices. Or was it one voice? As he pondered on this, already recognizing a single note, he realized that they were not only becoming cries, but as they grew louder, they progressed to be much clearer and crisp.

Just as soon as he urgently rose to his feet, somewhat wobbling, the eerie world was stripped from him, letting all light slip into an even darker void than the first. But the wails remained, and the boy trembled in their midst. They steadily grew louder, still incomprehensible, causing his tiny hands to grip his ears tightly, attempting to block out the roaring sound. He squirmed in the nothingness, and eventually dragged his cap and shaggy brunette curls further over his ears.

However, there was no stopping the chaotic noise. Not a chance in the world.

"Dipper…Hey, Dipping sauce, wake up!"

The twelve year old rolled over under his blanket with a moan. "Dipper…" his sister persisted in a teasing tone, "I'm gonna go get the pots and pans…" No reply. Mabel sat on the edge of her brother's blue-clad bed, not giving up in the slightest. "The fun stick?" This time, another audible grunt was heard from the boy. "Aw, come on, Dips. You're _always_ up before I am. What's with you?" She tried poking him in the side through the covers, but he simply wriggled away, mumbling something odd. At this, she took up a mock-shock posture. "Whoa. Wait a second. What'd you just say?"

Her twin abruptly burst through the warm covers, letting them drop to the floor, and practically screamed, "What the _heck, _Mabel? Can't you see I'm trying to sl—" His sister, being the joyful ball of sweaters she was, tackled him mid-sentence. He struggled for a moment, but then decided to laugh along with her, and she let go. He soon stopped, acting badly like he noticed something new. This happened to particularly be the sunlight filtering through their triangular window. "Is it morning already?" he asked in obvious fake surprise.

The twins then continued to laugh at the joke; Mabel trying to hold in her giggling with her hands over her mouth. Eventually, it turned to mere chuckles. Through the last bits, she managed, "C'mon," and a hand gesture to the door. The girl was walking out of the attic room to go downstairs when she saw that her brother wasn't right on her tail. She whipped around, long dark brown hair flying, and locked her eyes on the other being in the room. "What're you waiting for, bro-bro?" It was then she noticed he was rubbing his forehead. He hadn't even grabbed his hat off the bedside table yet.

"Uh…what?" He looked up at her for a second, confused. Then realization struck him. "Oh. I'm coming. I just need to go get changed. I'll be down in a minute." As usual, his voice cracked a little.

"Oh…_Okay…_" Something felt off.

Dipper continued to get up. He threw his light blue blanket back on his mattress, not bothering to straighten it out. He proceeded to gather other clothes among his belongings, grabbed his blue and white hat, and headed to the bathroom. Mabel looked after him with a strange look of bewilderment on her face. She then shrugged, followed him out of their shared room, and pattered down the steps. At the end of the old squeaky boards, she swiftly jumped the large crack in the middle. Looking around, she saw her brother hobbling down the hall towards the bathroom. Still no hat.

She then turned towards the kitchen on her heel, and entered the room. It didn't take long for her to discover a small pink bundle curled on a chair, snoring softly. Quick as lightning, she scooped her pig up, smiling, and he immediately woke, squealing loudly. He was now nothing like the lounger from a few moments ago. However, Mabel hushed him as soon as he started and Waddles realized just who was hugging, rather than attacking him. He squirmed around in her arms and tried to nuzzle her face. Giggling, the twelve year old girl hugged her chubby pig closer. She sat down in the chair previously occupied by her companion just as her great uncle stumbled into the room.

"Hey kids," he half yawned and then stretched. As an afterthought, he added, "Pig," and a little nod towards the pet. He scratched his back a bit. Yawned some more. He then turned around and opened the cupboard doors above his head, oblivious to his great nephew's absence.

Mabel was too busy to correct him. She only said, "Mornin' Grunkle Stan," and kept fiddling with Waddles' ears.

"What do you guys want? We've got a lot of 'The Brown Meat' left…some milk. Ya want any?" he asked while rummaging in the cabinets. He took a can for himself and fumbled for a spoon in the drawers.

His great niece replied at once with, "Nah, that stuff belongs in tacos." She thought about breakfast foods then, and a recent memory came to her. "Ooh! I want _pancakes_, Grunkle Stan. _Pancakes._" She flailed her arms, letting Waddles slide into her lap with an oink.

"Look, kid. We've got plenty of good, cheap grub right here at home. There's no _need_ to go to that old diner." He rolled his hand in the air, but didn't turn around. Upon seeing that there were no clean spoons in the drawer, let alone any other utensils besides a few butter knives, he grabbed a surprisingly fresh washrag off the counter. He turned on the warm water with a loud, grumpy sigh. Then he reached into the sink and started scrubbing away at the dishes and silverware.

"But what about Lazy Susan? Hmm?" At this, Stan stilled, and let the water keep running over his soapy hands. He didn't answer, and simply continued to wash the dishes a second later. But Mabel wasn't done. "I'm guessing there won't be any second date for her. Humph." She got him there, and he at least rolled his eyes and sighed once more. To his credit, he didn't let his great niece see his reaction. Mabel was grumbling some more when he asked her and Dipper to help dry the washed dishes.

"Oh! Sure thing, Grunkle Stan!" She jumped up with Waddles in her arms, and set him down gently. She came over to the sink, quickly washed her hands, and took a dry towel up in them. On her second dish, Stan was still washing, but he asked a question she had been ignoring herself.

"Hey, where's your brother at?" Apparently, he hadn't noticed Dipper wasn't there until this point.

"Oh, he's just upstairs, getting ready. No big deal." Another dish.

"Mabel, haven't you been down here for, what? Ten minutes?" He put a few forks on the counter, neglecting the old ribbed drying rack.

"Oh, I dunno. I—Oh." She put the foggy glass plate down, spun around, and raced for the steps. "I'll go get the sleepyhead!"

Galloping up the stairs, she first checked their bedroom. No twin brother. The bathroom downstairs was next. Mabel turned around in the doorway and nearly bumped right into him. Startled, they both jumped back. Again, Dipper had his hand on his head, but she saw he had his hat this time.

"Geez, Mabel! What're you doing?" When he spoke, his mouth twitched as if he was in pain. Mabel tried to dismiss that fact from her mind, though.

"Psh. Looking for you silly. Grunkle Stan wants our help with the dishes." She poked him in the nose, with the added sound effect of, "Boop!"

"Auh, Mabel, please. I think I have a headache." He clutched his forehead once more. Mabel cast him a worried glance. As they made their way downstairs again, her voice became softer when she asked if he knew why he had one. Not wanting to speak, he simply shook his head, but it was obvious that shockwaves of pain ran through him anyways. When they leaped the gap in the stairs, the landing felt as if it would split open his skull. Every step to the kitchen made the throbbing far worse. However, he was determined to suck it up. (Or at least until he found some painkillers.)

They entered the room; Grunkle Stan had already finished washing the dishes, but they were now a giant pile of gleaming pottery, stacked haphazardly on the counter. Upon their entry, Stan looked up from his new copy of _The Gravity Falls Gossiper_ and his can of meat. "Hey, kiddos. Mind shinin' up those dishes?" he mumbled around his mouthful and swallowed after speaking, leaving a bit of sauce on his chin.

Of course, the rough sound of his great uncle's voice made Dipper cringe from his headache, which he was now beginning to think was a migraine, and nonetheless, Stan noticed.

"Hey, what's up with you, kid? You look like you've actually seen a ghost this time." The boy did in fact look a lot paler than usual. Again, Dipper flinched, although this time he motioned for Stan to keep it down, making the old man put on a perplexed expression. Like Mabel, Grunkle Stan spoke to Dipper in a hushed tone for once. "Well, spit it out. C'mon, can't you talk?"

Dipper looked at the floor and sighed before speaking softly. "Yeah…Grunkle Stan, I can speak. It's just that…" he put his hand to his head, "I have this _really_ bad headache. Do you have any painkillers?"

All at once, Stan let out a cackle so loud that Dipper reeled back in pain and Mabel rushed towards him, steadying her brother on his feet. She shot an angered look at Grunkle Stan. This made him laugh harder than before and forced Dipper to shut his eyes further from the sound, with hands on ears. Stan finally put some of his laughter into words. He started trying to joke around, not bothering to keep his voice down. "What? You think I'm gonna have some grand assortment of cure-all medicines locked up in the bathroom cabinet? _Pffft AHAHAHAHAHA!_" He gave his knee a solid slap, only to recoil at the pain sparking in his old kneecap. Dipper too, shuddered at the noise. Mabel could only gasp.

"Grunkle Stan?" she ventured. Her great uncle looked up, holding his knee, trying not to react too much to the pain.

"Uh…O-on second thought, could you uh…" He paused for a second. "There's some Ibuprofen, the little red tablets, in the bathroom, in that old cabinet. I think my joints are acting up again." He tried to stretch out his leg, arm and shoulder still stiffly locked on his knee. There was a loud crack. "Oi. Maybe my back, too. Go get some, kid, will ya?" He had long since learned that rubbing the soreness out wouldn't work.

Mabel shifted her hold on Dipper. She felt like she was the only thing keeping him up, and she soon realized that he was shaking. Physically shaking. "Dipper?" He didn't respond, but Mabel saw his green eyes flick toward her. "I'm gonna put you in a chair, okay? Don't fall, brosef. Please don't fall." Lifting her trembling brother with a groan, she shifted him over to the nearest kitchen chair. Her twin slipped right out of her arms and into the seat with no trouble. He started sliding over to the right, but Mabel caught him by the shoulder and leaned him against the back of the chair. Despite the shaking, Dipper limply hugged his arms over his chest, and the room filled with the noise of his teeth chattering. From what, she couldn't tell. This unsettled Mabel further. Oh_, no, no, no. Oh my gosh, NO. Not shaking! No, no, no…_

Stan decided to break the tension. "Maybe you should get some for your brother, too."


	2. Be Glad for Soup

**[A/N]: First off, I must thank everyone for their support, reviews, and follows! I never imagined that those who commented would ever like this so much. Thank you.**

**The next chapter will be more interesting, I promise.**

**And HERE'S the second chapter of ****_A Blanket of Darkness_****, ****_Be Glad for Soup!_**

* * *

Efficiently, Mabel only took a second to process that her great uncle really meant to get the medicine. It wasn't just some big joke. She took one last glance at her trembling brother and was gone, darting through the kitchen, past the stairs, and down the hall. She nearly slid clear of the bathroom, but skidded to a halt just at the doorframe. In the next moment she'd practically ripped the cabinet door off its hinges.

Mabel frantically flipped through the contents of the cabinet, throwing any bottle that wasn't for headaches or pain relief behind her.

"Nasal spray, nope!" Toss.

"Aspirin!_ YES!_" She shoved the small bottle into the front pouch she'd fashioned onto her purple and pink striped sweater and continued digging.

"Disinfectant…_UGH_…nope!" The bottle was hurled over her shoulder.

"Come _on_! Where are you, 'I be pro fin'?!" She searched again.

"_More _Iodine…How much of that stuff does Grunkle Stan _need_?" Flipped over the shoulder. The next bottle was pitched into the air when she grabbed at it too fast. She barely caught it before it fell and spilled all over the already trashed floor.

"Huh? 'I buh pro fen'?" She plucked the cap off, which was quite loose; making sure it was red tablets. The girl immediately recognized the pills.

"Oh! Silly spelling stuff." Mabel shrugged, stashed it into her oversized pocket and rushed towards the door, only to slip on the discarded medicine bottles. She squealed, flailed at the wall, and narrowly missed falling on her face. Regaining some balance, she flew out into the hall.

She could hear her own feet thrumming against the wooden floor as she raced back to the kitchen, the adrenaline pumping in her veins. The jiggling of the pill bottles bothered her. All she kept telling herself was that everything would be okay, and it was all just some pain in her family. _Grunkle Stan's old, so it's normal, right? And Dipper gets headaches _all _the time. He…he's just cold. _The 80 degree heat didn't seem to support her thoughts.

When she returned, Grunkle Stan had risen from his chair and was standing close to Dipper, his hand on the boy's shaky shoulder, despite his own pain.

"Hey, kid, ya sick or somethin'?" Grunkle Stan inquired, but all Dipper could do was shiver and make a muffled noise.

Mabel whisked over to the kitchen table and hastily fished the two medication bottles out of her sweater cubby. They were plopped down onto the table. She wanted to help right away, and urged her great uncle to give her brother the medicine. She tugged at his arm.

"Grunkle Stan, I think we should try to give him the painkillers. He might just vibrate right off the chair if we don't!" Stan had to chuckle a bit about this, and picked up the Ibuprofen bottle.

"Mabel, go get us some water, will ya?" His great niece did as she was told in mere seconds. While Stan took his share of the medicine, Mabel paused about getting Dipper's.

"Grunkle Stan?"

"Hm?"

She gave him a confused look. "Am I just supposed to hold the glass for him?" Stan nearly dropped his own cup.

"Wait. You mean this's never happened before?" He looked back and forth between the shivering Dipper and the questioning Mabel. "Ever?"

Mabel tapped the side of the glass nervously, leaving marks on the already sweating container. The words tumbled out of her mouth. "Only headaches…he's never shivered before. I think he's actually sick! And Dipper _never_ gets sick!"

"Hey, hey. There's no panicking under this roof, kid."

"But-"

He gave her a stern glare, all the while trying to not see Dipper at the edge of his vision. He watched her set down the water glass for her brother.

"Look, if you want him to get better from this…this…what? Headache…thing…?" He shook his head. "Long story short, whatever _this_ is, you need to take care of him. After all, you_ are_ the Alpha Twin, right?"

That got Mabel going.

She took up a Sergeant-like position and fired off orders at her great uncle. "RIGHT! You give him the meds. I go make him some…uh…" Her posture faltered and she put her finger to her lip. "Uh…some chicken noodle soup!" With the last words, she bounced back into her army position. She then spun around towards the cooking area; another thought revealed itself to her.

"And get him some blankets!" Mabel called over her shoulder.

In the next instant, she was flipping open cabinet doors and rapidly sliding out drawers.

* * *

A bit baffled by his niece's straightforwardness, Stan gulped down the last mouthful of his water and clanked the glass down. He turned to Dipper then, and all he could seem to focus on was how badly the boy was shaking. Never in all his years had he seen such a thing. _Except for that one time…_ A memory of a school boy sprawled on the floor and violently convulsing flickered in Stan's mind, but he quickly dismissed it. There was no way Dipper could be having a seizure. Right? The conman decided not to risk it.

"Hey, Mabel."

She hardly looked up from the steaming pot she was stirring. "Hm?"

"Dip's never had any seizure type deals, has he?"

Two sets of blazing green eyes slid towards the elderly man.

"I'll take that as a no."

Getting back to his own task, his eyes immediately slid to Dipper's shivering form again. Worry gripped his chest. He figured he'd give his nephew some Ibuprofen before he tried to warm him up, just in case the water spilled. Set on this, he took a red capsule from the bottle and grabbed the fresh glass from where Mabel had set it. Stan was acutely aware of his great nephew's gaze.

"Alright, kid. You'd better not bite my finger off with those teeth. I'm not in the mood for any dumb hospital staff." He kneeled level with the brunette boy. The two locked eyes, silently trusting each other. One to not get annoyingly bit, the other to not choke. Both were fairly legitimate reasons.

Dipper slowly stopped his teeth from chattering with an effort, although they quivered a bit, and Stan practically threw the medicine into his nephew's mouth. Just as fast, he chased the pill with the water, and let the boy drink. He didn't take it away until all the water was gone.

By this time, Mabel had succeeded in whipping up some chicken noodle soup, respectively from the can, and was ready to serve it. Just after Stan went to get blankets for Dipper, she nabbed three still-wet bowls off the countertop, swiftly dried them, and filled the dishes up to the brim with soup. Puffs of steam rose into the air from the food.

When she was waiting for Grunkle Stan to come back and for the soup to cool a bit, she fished out three spoons from the silverware pile and dried them, too. She then placed them in the bowls and moved all of the portions of soup over to the table. As soon as she was done, she sidled over to her brother. Dipper had improved only ever so slightly from his shaking, but Mabel was sure that warming him up would do the trick. She grabbed another of the kitchen chairs, shooed Waddles off of it, and pushed it as close to Dipper's as possible. When she sat down, she gripped his shivering arm. Again, he could only slide green eyes towards her. She cringed at the pain in them.

Mabel thought—no, she _knew_ there was something horribly wrong with him. She could feel the dread building up inside her just as clearly as thunderclouds piling up on the horizon, ready to storm. And she had a good hunch that whatever was wrong with her brother had a special page set in his journal, all for itself.

Stan broke her thoughts as he came back into the kitchen, carrying a pile of old, but barely used blankets. He set them down on his own chair and took one off the top. Mabel scooted over in her seat so he could drape it around Dipper's shoulders. As soon as it covered him, she again clung to his shaky arm through the thick fabric.

Stan could smell the soup, and once he saw it, he was surprised that Mabel had it all ready and prepared.

"You know he can't eat until he stops that shaking, right?

"Hey! There's always the microwave." Mabel sat a little straighter, her fists at her hips. "Plus, Dipper _loves_ any soup I can whip up. When I cook, there's _always_ a Mabel difference!"

"Alright then. Sheesh." He straightened his fez. "Ya want to move him to the living room, you guys' room? Somewhere more comfortable than a stiff breakfast chair?" He stood there, waiting for an answer. Mabel didn't move from Dipper's side.

"Grunkle Stan, I can bet you five bucks that _he_ would want to. Why don't you just _ask_ him?" She gestured towards her brother. Stan rolled his eyes.

"Puh. If he could _talk…_" He paused. Then a grin sprung upon his face and he rubbed his chin. A second later he pointed back at Mabel with a laugh. "Hey, you're on, kid."

* * *

They decided that Dipper should be carried upstairs, anyway. Stan picked up his shivering great nephew in the blanket and held the preteen to his right side as he ascended the stairs. Dipper groaned at the movement. With his left hand, Stan kept hold of the railing, while Mabel trailed behind with the stack of blankets.

When they finally reached the attic bedroom, it was the same as when the twins had left it earlier that morning. Not a thing was out of place. Stan carefully dropped Dipper onto his bed and hobbled away, complaining of still more aches. He left Mabel with her brother and went downstairs for his hot soup.

"Hey, Dips." Mabel began to shake out the other blankets and put them overtop Dipper, who flopped down onto his back with a groan. Mabel sat at the end of his bed again, just like an hour and a half before. She reached over and pulled Dipper's blue blanket from the side of the bed against the wall, where it had been lodged in the move. She draped it on top of the three other blankets covering him.

There was a long silence. Then Mabel snorted.

"You could at least say 'thank you'." Her laugh rang in the air, and Dipper even managed a few shaky chuckles. His sister noticed immediately.

"Hey! That Ibuprofen stuff is starting to kick in, huh?" Dipper moaned at her suddenly loud voice. She quickly switched to a whisper shout.

"Oh! Sorry!" Dipper moaned again. Mabel chose to stay silent, and she managed it for a good five minutes. However, one thought kept bugging her so much that she ended up just blurting it out. Still mindfully soft, though.

"I think there's something wrong with you, you know, with that magic-y stuff? Yeah."

"No kidding." The rasp from her brother was so sudden that Mabel scarcely knew if she had actually heard it at all.

"Dipper?"

"Yea—"

At the first note of his voice, Mabel sprang at him, attempting to give a hug through the many sheets.

"Mabel…!"

Now embracing her twin with a force, Mabel held tight, and she wasn't going to let go anytime soon. He still shook a bit, but she was overjoyed anyways. _YES!_ _He _was _just cold! He's alright! Now he can— _A gasp escaped from her when she realized Dipper could eat the soup waiting for them downstairs.

"I'll be right back, Dips!" she squealed as she jumped up from the bed and hurried for the door. "Grunkle Stan! He's getting better!" Her peppy voice traveled through the wooden house to now sensitive ears.

Dipper was left sitting up in bed, not feeling much better at all.


	3. Prickle

** [A/N]: Welcome to chapter three,****_ Prickle_****. Here we will see some more of Dipper's...symptoms...Watch out for little details...**

**Please, enjoy.**

* * *

_ What a…weird feeling…_

He felt a never-ending ache in his skull, and yet strangely numb all over. The boy's skin prickled, and the tiny hairs on the surface, though unmanly, stood on end. His head was as stuffy with bleariness as ever. All was fuzzed and blurred, like an old television screen. Dipper shook his head again. It proved worthless.

He sat there in bed, his upper body exposed to cold and the rest of him warming beneath the sheets. He shivered slightly. Numbness crept up his arms and chest. Even the blue stuffed vest wasn't keeping him warm enough.

_Short sleeves won't do it._

He burrowed into the blankets, completely covering himself, and shut his eyes tight. He felt frozen in cold, like there was ice creeping into his bones. Like there was something fidgeting beneath his skin, restless.

_But it's gotta be _eighty_ degrees! Why am I so cold? It doesn't make any sense…_

The sensation soon melted away as the little heat from him filled the insulated space. He sighed, relieved that he wouldn't have to stay freezing. He started to doze in the warmth of the bed, feeling safe. He curled up tighter.

All was quiet. He was slipping further into unconsciousness when there was a sudden clang from downstairs. Dipper's eyes flashed open. Muffled voices were heard coming from the floor below him. He turned over in the mass of fabric, trying to understand what was going on. He was tense and alert now.

_Dipper, what are you doing? Come on, man. It's just Grunkle Stan in the kitchen. Or Soos knocking something over. Get a grip. There's nothing to be afraid of…_

He tried to sleep again, in the dark of the covers. He forced himself to lie still, curled up into a tiny ball. He breathed in slow breaths. His heart was no longer trying to break out of his chest. The rate began to feel normal to him.

Just as he started to relax, a new prickling feeling swept over him. Like the painful heat of flames, inches away from skin. Despite his second-ago chill, he felt extremely suffocated under the many blankets. Desperate for air, he untangled himself from the sheets and shoved them off.

He sat up again, gasping for breath. The tingling ceased. Cold sweat dripped down his face. He drew in a long gulp of air.

_What the heck…_was_ that?_

However, he wasn't allowed to calm. The air around the boy sent him into another shivering fit. He groaned. With some difficulty, he shrugged the blankets back over himself and covered his head. The sudden dark was so definite that he couldn't even tell if his eyes were open. He sucked in air rapidly and clung to the blankets. Dipper was prepared for another bout.

After a few moments, the uncontrollable shakes eased away. He surprisingly didn't feel like he was burning underneath the fabrics, either. The temperature was comfortable. Puzzled, the twelve-year-old cautiously poked his bare arm out from under the covers. Immediately, he drew it back. To him, it was cold outside of the little hut.

_But before…I was cold…then it was too hot under here…Did I just get used to it…or…_His thoughts trailed off as his head twinged in pain, sharper than the continuous dull ache. A tiny, piercing pain traveled through his limbs, much to his annoyance.

_Maybe the ibuprofen isn't working too well after all…_He shut his eyes deliberately now, and his stomach rumbled.

_At least I can eat some soup, whenever the heck Mabel gets back up here._

Dipper turned onto his side, exhausted from the panic of the morning, and waited for his sister.

* * *

"Grunkle Stan! Hellooo! Did you hear me? Dipper's getting better!" The girl bounced on her heels with excitement.

"Huh? Wassat?" Stan was in the middle of enjoying his portion of the soup, the can of meat discarded on the other end of the table.

"I said—" She was cut off by the shack's handyman popping into view in the doorway.

"Hey, dudes!"

"Soos? What're you doing here this earl—" Stan dropped his spoon. "Uh oh." He jumped to his feet, nearly dumped the soup, and ran out of the room. Mabel and Soos could only stand there, dumb-founded. In a moment's time, the handyman spoke.

"Hey, do you think that was like…for that nine o'clock tour…?"

As if in reply, a bus could be heard screeching into the drive of the Mystery Shack.

"Sounds a lot like it, Soos."

They listened to Stan rummaging through the house, probably struggling with his Mr. Mystery get-up. A loud crash sounded from the gift shop.

"Hey! Any of you knuckleheads seen my cane?"

"Sorry, Mr. Pines. Haven't seen it. Me and Hambone can help look, though!" the large man called back. Grumbles floated to the kitchen as a response.

Mabel realized what the handyman had done in an instant.

"What? Soos! I can't go looking for that old thing now! Who _knows_ where Grunkle Stan put that? I need to take care of Dipper!" she exclaimed while frantically motioning with her arms. He glanced at her confusedly.

"Why not?" He looked around; realizing Dipper was nowhere to be seen. "Where is the little dude anyway?"

Mabel found her hand going to her forehead as she averted her eyes.

"Upstairs." She sighed. "He's pretty sick."

Soos, who had opened a lower cupboard in search of the cane, let it slam shut. He turned towards the girl.

"Sick like…how? Cold sick, or like…uh…stomach sick?"

"I don't know, Soos." She sat down at the table, in front of the two untouched soup bowls. She lifted her elbow to the surface and slumped her cheek against her hand. "It's weird. Like freaky weird."

"Dude, what happened? I can totally help around here."

"Thanks Soos." She looked up, deciding to confide in her friend.

"It's just that Dipper was all funny today. Like something was off. And he had this really bad headache, and Grunkle Stan laughed at him for it. It was so bad that he started _shivering_, Soos! Shaking like mad! I even had to hold him up!" She paused; twiddled her thumbs.

"He couldn't talk for a while, actually. It was kind of freaky. Grunkle Stan had to give him ibuprofen. I made this." She gestured to the now cold soup. Soos remained silent; his mind whirring with possibilities of what had ailed Dipper.

"Ugh. I have to heat it up again, anyway. Plus Dipper's gonna need some cheering up. Go help Stan, okay, Soos?" She got up and took the bowls towards the microwave, leaving her friend to assist the conman.

* * *

"Wendy! Man the cash register!"

Stan darted back into the gift shop from the living room, the swinging door flitting behind him. He had successfully found the 'magic eight ball' cane, and was ready to tour.

Wendy, who had been reading an Indie Rock magazine behind the cash register, merely waved her hand in response. Her face held a concentrated expression. She clearly wasn't going to drop the paper. It didn't take much work to shove money in an old register, anyways.

As a last adjustment, Stan raised the price of a ten dollar snow globe to one hundred.

"Heh heh. Bleedin' 'em dry."

He stood up straight, the marker still in hand, and surveyed the room.

"Ship-shape." As soon as he spoke, a rack of T-shirts clattered to the floor, taking multiple boxes with them. Stan glanced over.

"Uh, hey! Dip—" The old man cleared his throat. "Soos! That bad rack's busted again! Get in here and fix it!"

"Sure, Mr. Pines!" Straight away, Soos came into the room. Restacking the boxes was a breeze. He straightened the rack, replacing it onto its bracket.

"It just slid off. It's real rickety, though, dude. Might wanna superglue it later." The metal structure kept tilting sideways, and the man-child shoved another box underneath some of its beams to steady it.

"There!" He turned around; ready to help his employer with something else, but the elder man was already walking away. Soos decided to ask anyways. The con artist was about to slip out the door when his employee tapped him on the shoulder. The oversized man quickly took notice of the already found cane.

"Hey, Mr. Pines. You need help with anything else, dude?" The two began walking out the door.

"Nah. I got this under control." As they came closer to the assembled crowd of tourists, Stan rethought his statement. "Although…I could use some more exhibits…"

"I'll be real quick, sir!" his employee saluted and swept back to the shack.

Sighing, the conman came closer to the waiting crowd. Swallowing down a flutter of hidden anxiety, he began his semi-practiced introduction.

"Welcome to the Mystery Shack! Where behind these doors hold oddities and mysterious key chains, the likes of which the world, has never known! Come one, come all, to the first tour of the day! Tickets are fifty bucks a pop. Step right in!" Stan chanted, motioning towards the entrance.

There was a heck of a lot of tourists that day, maybe fifty in one busload. _Has to be a record. By the end of it, I'll have at least ten grand with these prices._

Stan rubbed his hands together in anticipation as the tourists excitedly filed past him. The old cash register clanked from inside.

* * *

Mabel carefully walked up the old wooden steps of her summer home. With each board, she braced herself to not spill any of the soup she was carrying. A single drop missing wouldn't be fair.

When she reached the top, it was much easier to walk on the flat wood. The brunette steadily continued on into the shared room of herself and her brother. It was evident he was stuffed under all of the blankets on his bed. Turning away and trying to concentrate on the soup, she neatly set the two bowls down on the bedside table.

"Hey, Dipper!" She tugged on the mass of blankets. "Soup's on!" A groan came from the pile.

"No way, Dips! You have to eat _something_." Mabel definitely wasn't taking no for an answer. She jabbed at the blankets, trying to force her brother to get up.

"Mabel! I think I learned the first time! Get off!"

"Then why won't _you_ get _up_?"

"Are you crazy? It's freezing out there for me!" His sister giggled.

"Not if you have some of this _delicious_ noodle soup I made. It'll warm you up, lickety split!"

"Well…"

"Come on, bro. You know you want the soup…" She poked at the covers again. "I can even add sprinkles…"

"Ew! Gross, Mabel!" He thought for a moment. "But it does smell good…"

"Pfft. No way you can smell it from under there!" She wiggled her fingers spookily. "_Only those who are willing to eat the precious soup may sense iiit…_"

At the sound of her voice, Dipper was pushed into laughter. Mabel seized her chance. She ripped the covers from him, taking the warmth away.

"Hey! It's c-cold!"

In response, his sister nimbly jumped atop the mattress and wrapped the covers around his shoulders. He clutched at the blankets, amazed at how quickly he could plunge over the edge of warmth.

"Th-thanks."

"No problem, brosef." Mabel slid off the bed and went over to the nightstand, quickly picking up a bowl of soup. She handed it to her brother, who fumbled with the dish. The spoon swished in the liquid, the creamy color standing out against the red of the bowl. Even with its heat, the boy shivered slightly. Mabel could plainly see the tiny hairs on his skin standing on end. _Poor Dips…_Grabbing the other bowl for herself, she settled down next to her twin. She noticed something was out of place, then.

"What the heck happened to your hat?"

"Huh?" Dipper set the bowl in his lap. "My hat?"

"Yeah. Where is it?"

He felt the top of his head, expecting Mabel to just be fooling with him. That was not the case.

"Uh…It must be in the covers somewhere…" He felt around between the blankets for a few moments, eventually pulling out the blue and white cap. He held it in his hands, not saying a word, and drew his thumb across the fabric. He stopped at the pine tree stitching.

"Aren't you gonna put it on? It'll keep you loads warmer."

"Nah…I'd rather not. It'll just fall off again."

"Fine, Shiver-Me-Timbers."

"Oh come on, Mabel. That's not even how you use that phrase. You know that."

"Well duh, but it was totally worth it!"

"Pfft." He knew what she was getting at.

"Oh, come on! At least wear it while you're eating."

"Ugh…"

"Every moment counts!" She put her hand on his blanket covered shoulder. "Besides, all that heat'll make you super nice looking for Wendy. I don't think she'll like you all clammy like this."

Her brother shoved the hat on his head. "Don't bring Wendy into this!" His cheeks grew red.

"Ahaha! Success!" The girl triumphantly fist pumped. Rolling his eyes, Dipper picked up his bowl of soup again and started eating.

"Yeah, yeah. Great soup, by the way."

"Thanks! I'm actually surprised it turned out this good, with that cruddy old stove Grunkle Stan has."

"I'm pretty sure I've seen a rat crawl out of that thing, Mabel."

"Nasty."

They ate in silence for quite some time, despite the rat thought, and when they were finished, Mabel gathered up the dishes. As she was about to leave, she remembered an important question she had wanted to ask. She couldn't get the image of her brother fidgeting out of her mind. It worried her.

"So what do you think is making you sick, anyways?"

Dipper, who had been curling back into the blankets, flinched. It was obvious he had purposely avoided the subject. "I don't know. I don't have the journal anymore. Grunkle Stan does. But I'm getting this really weird vibe about this...whatever. I have _no_ idea what to do about it. It's kind of scary."

"You bet." She rocked back and forth on her heels. "Hey. Should I ask him for it back?"

Dipper stared at her and gulped. When he spoke, his voice was still shivery weak. "I guess it's worth a shot."


	4. The Asking Back

**[A/N]: Why, hello again! I apologize for the long wait; I've been fairly busy. Free time is hard to come by lately. I hope that I'll be more time efficient throughout the rest of this story.**

**Anyhoo, please enjoy this brand new chapter, and watch out for meaningful words.**

**Chapter 4: The Asking Back **

* * *

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel poked her head out from behind the wall of the entryway.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Can I ask you something?"

The twins had decided to wait until the tour was over to ask their great uncle about the journal. Stan was sitting in his yellowing plaid chair, watching the television. Some odd infomercial about woodpeckers breaking through windows was playing across the screen.

"Uh, yeah, sure. There's nothin' really good on, anyways."

Mabel warily came towards her great uncle, trying to remember what Dipper had told her to say. _Deep breaths. Just ask for it back 'so Dipper can read' while he's sick…something to do. And Grunkle Stan…If he asks you; say Dips was halfway through reading a really awesome part. Try not to…to tell the truth._

Panic soared in her mind._ No! It's for the greater good, and that's it! It's not _really_ a lie…he _does_ need to read up on this…We need that journal back, no matter what. I need to help Dipper. Need to help Dipper. Need to help Dipper._

She started off awkwardly.

"So…um…you remember that big goofy book Dipper had, right?" Her voice caught in her throat; barely making it past her mouth, as if her teeth were barriers blocking the lie from flying out.

Stan narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah? What about it?"

Mabel rocked back and forth on her feet again, getting more nervous by the second.

"Well…Since he's like…bed-ridden now, for today at least, he wants something to do. We can't bore him to death. He said he wanted to…uh… read." She gulped.

There was complete tension in the air as Mabel anxiously waited for Stan to answer. She began to think he would never give up the journal. Her breath was held.

"Eh. Maybe…" He put his hand to his chin, seemingly ignoring the gasp of air from his niece. "But on one condition."

Mabel leaned in closer.

"When he gets better from this thing, he's gotta step up some work around here." He paused when Mabel gave him an annoyed look and held up his hands defensively.

"Hey, I'm not sayin' he's not doin' a good job or anything, I'm sayin' he can do something to make up for that haul up the steps. These old bones aren't good for carrying that kinda weight around."

Mabel couldn't help but grin. "Deal!"

"Now go on, get up to your brother, kid. I'll be there in a minute with that dusty old book. Even though it's filling his head with nonsense."

* * *

"Dips, for the record, you're a genius, and definitely made of twigs."

"What?"

Mabel giggled. She couldn't have been upstairs faster. Bringing her brother news of the journal was making her jittery in itself.

"For how skinny you are, you've sure got a lot of brain power," his sister translated.

"Geez, Mabel, get to the point."

"Grunkle Stan's bringing up the journal!"

For a moment there was only silence. Then, Dipper poked his face out from the blankets, far too excited to be weary of the cold.

"Seriously? _YES! _We can finally solve this!"

"Yeah!" Mabel went in for a high five.

As the two slapped hands, cheering, a jolt of what felt like pure ice passed into Mabel's palm. She pulled back with a shriek. With her other hand, she cradled the effected appendage, only to look up and discover her twin was a mirror image of herself.

"Agh! What the heck was that, Dipper? Are you contagious or something?" Her voice was strangely soft.

"What? No!" There was a pause. "At least I don't think so…"

Mabel's right hand, which only seconds before had felt like pins and needles had been blasted clean through it, was utterly fine. She lifted it to her face. There was no longer any bone-cold creak to the frame. The sensation had gone as quickly as it had come.

"Well, that was _really_ weird. It felt like I just punched a hole through the South Pole!" She rolled her wrist, flipping her hand to its back, and tested out her fingers.

"Hey, I don't get it either, okay? At least we didn't switch bodies again. What a nightmare_ that_ would be." Dipper followed the same actions as his sister was doing, nearly simultaneously.

"Especially with this shaky thing going on, bro. I don't think I could handle that either. You're all awkward and sweaty in the first place." She laughed nervously, still staring at her hand.

Her brother took up an indignant expression. "Am not!"

"Pfft! Are too. You know it!"

The twelve year old boy let out a defeated sigh. "Okay, alright. Maybe I am."

"Told ya." Mabel looked absolutely triumphant now.

Dipper glared at his giggling sister for a few seconds, but suddenly his head snapped towards the attic door.

"Hey, what's all this chitchat about?" As Grunkle Stan came in the room, the boy suddenly shrank back into the covers, completely concealing his face. His hat was left sitting on the edge of the bed. Mabel gave the mass of blankets a quizzical stare.

"What's up with him?" In near response to the elderly man, the giant bundle of blankets fidgeted. It took the female twin a few seconds to realize what was bothering her brother.

"I think it's your crazy old man's voice again, Grunkle Stan. Try talking softer to him."

"Hmph." Though looking disbelieving, Stan gave it a go. "You okay there, kid?"

"…Yes…No…Maybe…Uh…I don't know…"

"But kid, what's wrong? Just a second ago you were talking to your sister just fine. What happened to ya?"

"I…I…I don't know!" Dippers muffled voice quaked from beneath the covers. "I just…had this _feeling_…It's really weird, I don't know how to descri-…I…I-I just…felt the need to…to…_hide._"

Stan, who had been leaning down towards his great nephew in order to hear him, abruptly stood up straight. He slowly dragged his index finger across the aged leather cover of the journal in his hands. Half to himself, he muttered, "Keep it together, Stan. But let it go."

It was obvious that his great nephew stiffened under the comforters.

"Here, kid. You probably need this more than me. Can't have you dying of boredom up here." He set the third journal down on Dipper's mattress, and, almost instantly, the boy's hand flashed out, latched onto it, and swiped it under the blankets. The fluid motion was nearly not caught by Stan's old eyes, but he saw it anyway.

"Th-thanks, Grunk-kle Stan. I…I really a-appreciate it." The boy's great uncle made a sound in the back of his throat like he thought something was up, but he didn't voice any such thoughts. He turned and started walking out the door.

"Yeah, sure, kid. Just ask your sister about what you owe me."

His hand grasped the doorframe.

"And quit actin' so weird. Sheesh."

* * *

"…Mabel…?"

"Dips, that was some freaky move there. You were so fast!"

"That…that's what's bothering me…"

Her face bore a confused, yet caring expression.

"Just…just grab the flashlight and get over here, okay?"

"Oh, okay!"

Mabel slid off the edge of the bed and snatched the flashlight from her brother's stash of mystery hunting supplies. Then she lifted up the edge of the covers and climbed under them.

Beneath the mass of blankets, it was extremely warm for her, and pitch black. She flicked on the flashlight and shone it on her brother, who was already curled around journal three, clasping it tightly against his chest. He looked up at her, terror in his green eyes.

"Mabel, I-I..." He swallowed hard. "We…we need to figure this out fast. I feel like…like it's getting…worse..."

She moved closer to her brother.

"Worse?...Worse…_how_?"

"I…I don't know. I just feel…really really drained…When Grunkle Stan came in here…ugh…But now…" He curled up tighter. Mabel gave him a soft smile and put her hand on his arm. However, the twins both pulled back in agony, trying not to voice the cold.

There was a long, pained silence.

"A-and, like _that_."

Mabel shook her head to clear it. "Let's just look through the journal already. Okay, broseph?"

* * *

A few breaths passed.

"Come on, Dips."

The scruffy haired boy didn't budge when his sister talked to him. He had shut his eyes tight again, trying to will the sudden cold away. He heard her make an annoyed noise, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He was so surprised that there was no shock this time that he rolled onto his back and threw open his eyes.

Mabel sat next to him, kneeling, a huge grin plastered on her face.

"At least those weird cold vibes don't come through fabric. It's like you've got our own armor!"

"Ye..yeah…"

"Well, are we gonna look through the journal or what? Come on! Open it!"

Ignoring the chill in his limbs and the ache in his skull, he tried to focus on the task at hand. _These symptoms 'll be listed in the illness pages somewhere, right? If the book doesn't have anything… _He gulped.

Dipper, sighing, flipped himself over onto his stomach and pushed the journal in front of him. The twins scooted closer together, side by side. Mabel fixed the flashlight over the old tattered book between them. For a moment the twin to the left, Dipper, felt completely stuck in memories of the worn leather book in his hands. He realized that it felt extremely good to be able to have it back, to read it freely. _The answer…it's in here somewhere…_

He snapped back to reality when his sister nudged him in the side. Still holding onto the journal, the boy flicked it open to the first set of pages. Bold words that had been locked in his mind for ages passed by as he kept going on in the book. Suddenly, the word 'chill' caught his eye.

"Heh…hey…Mabel, look at this." He pointed to the scribbled group of words and read off the page. "In my experiences of ghostly beings, there is often a chill around the person that the entity may be…h-ha-haunting…" His voice failed to properly end the sentence.

"Ooh! Hey, bro bro, did you upset any ghosts lately? I wonder if it's friendly!" She shook him by the shoulder excitedly.

"What? No!" He stared at her, blinking away the pain. "No…That can't be right. I haven't done anything. They always have a reason. This isn't the convenience store…"

"What about the conven—?"

"N-nothing! Nothing…" He stared back at the book, trying to block the words of the ghost memory from coming forth.

"A-_any_way…I d-don't think the answer's on th-this page…" He flipped through the book more rapidly, changing the subject. _Where are the illness pages…?_

Oddly enough, as he stiffly moved the weathered pages, another prickling sensation trickled down his spine. He shuddered rigidly, but tried to hide it from his twin, not daring to make a sound. Luckily Mabel didn't notice. The frosty pain that had been surrounding him was replaced by warmth and only a dull ache in his head. He was able to flip the pages with ease now.

…_Sometimes this… helps…_

A few times Mabel's hand holding the light wavered in the dark, but Dipper went on anyway. After about twenty pages, he finally came to what he was looking for.

"Aha!"

His sister, who'd been twirling her hair in her fingers, straightened the flashlight beam again and edged closer intently.

"So what is it?"

"Well I don't _know_ yet, Mabel, but I found the pages I was looking for." His voice no longer shook. His twin glanced quickly at him and then at the book.

"'Illnesses and Diseases of Gravity Falls'…?"

"Yep."

"Like zombies and werewolves?" she asked, scanning the page. Her eyes widened. "And vampires! Dips, let me see your neck!"

"Wh-wha—"

Before he could stop her, she had grabbed a hold of his shoulders and shone the flashlight on his neck anxiously. The yellow light splashed onto pale skin. Mabel peered closer, hoping for twin bite marks.

"Mabel, I think I would've known if I had—"

"Awww! You're not!" She released him and let her arms droop, clearly disappointed. There had been no marks at all.

"Thanks, Mabel. Glad to hear it."

"Hmph."

Dipper sighed and faced the book again. Cautiously he began reading the text, like he had so many times before, but out loud now.

"In Gravity Falls, I have discovered many strange diseases and illnesses found only here. Others, of course, are told of all over the world, in folklore and tradition, but also tend to show up right at home. Oh, I'm not talking about the simple cold or 'stomach bug', as some say. These are the serious cases."

The twins exchanged glances. Then Dipper continued on, his voice still weak, yet steady.

"First, there are three main classes of these strange sicknesses. _Punctreform_ is the class for were creatures and other wound-inflicting carriers of abnormalities such as vampires or zombies. Illnesses solely caused by plants are classified as _sporis silva_. And last, but not least, is the class of _fera stirpis_. The group is a horrific concoction of both plant and animal related diseases; often a mixture between _punctreform_ and _sporis silva_."

"Dipper, what does that last part even mean?"

"Uh…That _fera stirpis_ is a group name for any disease that has to do with animal and plant stuff. It's like both the were creature one and the plant one combined. And apparently it's way worse, too."

"Oh…so that's some kind of mutant disease stuff, then?"

"I'm pretty sure they're all weird like that, but yeah."

He again read from the text.

"Within the _punctreform _class, it divides itself into two main parts, _muto facin_, the actual cause of a wound-transmitted transformation, and _post contact_, any effects after the transformation."

Mabel gave her brother and the book a sweepingly bored glance.

"Hey, this part gets good." He cleared his throat. "Werewolfism, vampirism, and many other biting predatory diseases are of _muto facin_, and they all have their own special quirks. See the chart on the '_Punctreform_' page for more informati—"

"Dipper, don't."

"Hey, I wasn't going to. I know for a fact that I'm not bit by anything."

"No, I mean, can we just skip to the plant and that mixed up disease thingy? There's a chart for that, right? Like for the werewolves and vampires? All these Greek words are making my head spin."

Dipper sighed. "It's _Latin_, Mabel. And fine, we can." He flipped the page until he found the chart labeled '_Sporis Silva_' on the left side. On the right page, the chart for '_Fera Stirpis_' loomed, big and bold. The twins found their eyes wandering to the right side instead of the left, in order.

"Dipper, are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

The boy couldn't believe it, but he definitely saw it. There, on the page, listed neatly inside a rectangular box among many, were all of his symptoms. Even the ones he'd failed to acknowledge before now.

_Sudden chills, hot flashes, and sharp pain of the skull. Temperature fluctuation. Shaking, often violently. Possible shortness of breath. Animal-like or primary instincts. Progressing hunger. Improved senses. _Punctreform_ and _sporis silva_ characteristics. Prickling sensation beneath skin. Desire to learn of predicament. Weak. Fearful. Aware of one's own skeleton and flesh. Dependent._

His thoughts jumbled together in a rush. He felt his chest tighten and his breath escape him.

"Huh. What're _plamin_?" Mabel pointed to another outlined box. Dipper's eyes raked over the word.

"Who we have to go see." He rasped out his response.


End file.
